


we're not broken, just bent

by Florchis



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Basically deals with the bad things that happened to them, Dealing with the aftermath of brainwashing/manipulation, F/M, Fixing Relationships, Healing, LLF Comment Project, Mention of Panic Attacks, POV Jemma Simmons, Post-Framework, References to PTSD, but this is mostly fluff and comfort, self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 13:58:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florchis/pseuds/Florchis
Summary: She went away leaving behind her only a note saying "I love you, but I can’t do this." The last day of each month, she takes out the phone she only uses to communicate with S.H.I.E.L.D. and writes to him: Not yet. She has sent him a "Not yet" message nine times already, but when she is about to send him the tenth, she receives an email from him: You mean more than anything to me. She gets choked up, but for the first time in a long time, tears feel like a blessing. She doesn’t answer him with her customary "Real", but instead with "I think I'm ready, Fitz."Or: Fitzsimmons reunite ten months after The Framework





	we're not broken, just bent

**Author's Note:**

> From an anon tumblr prompt: FS + “It’s two sugars, right?” 
> 
> Okay, people, hear me out before reading. I rated this T because I don't think it's too triggering/goes too deep into any serious stuff. But. This takes place after The Framework and therefore deals with what happened to them there; even if this is written in a light way and is supossed to be about healing and comfort, please heed of the warnings for your own safety, in case *you* don't feel like dealing with this in any capacity: 
> 
> WARNINGS: Fitzsimmons being apart for some healing time; mention of panic attacks; dealing with the aftermath of brainwashing/manipulation; use of Peeta Mellark's (from The Hunger Games) way of sorting through his memory after being brainwashed; references to general, non specific PTSD.

**_It's been written in_ **

**_the scars on our hearts:_ **

**_we're not broken, just bent,_ **

**_and we can learn to love again._ **

* * *

She went away leaving behind her only a note that said _I love you, but I can’t do this._ She didn’t say that it wasn’t a permanent thing, but somehow she knows that he knows. It’s almost like a law of nature: energy can not be destroyed, and therefore they always gravitate back towards each other. That’s why, the last day of each month, she takes out the phone she only uses to communicate with S.H.I.E.L.D. and writes to him: _Not yet._ He never answers, but Jemma knows it’s because he is respecting her wishes, not because he didn’t get it.

She feels selfish and a little guilty for taking this decision, but she knows it’s the only thing that has allowed her to stay sane and to heal. They are good to each other, she is not denying that; but she believes that she can’t be blamed for needing a little distance to scrub away from her skin the memory of the hands that were his hands but weren’t him.

Coming back to her hometown, getting to see her family again, taking some time completely away from S.H.I.E.L.D., going back to therapy, giving herself time to learn how to love science again without fear, have all been good decisions too. A lot of things were wrong even before the moment she had to stop looking the men she loves in the eyes in order to stop triggering panic attacks. She feels like she is re-learning herself: every morning when she looks at the mirror, it gets harder to recognize the woman who not that long ago was exhausted and anxious and terrified 24/7.

She asks Daisy for regular updates on him, because she will never forgive herself if he does something drastic because or while she is away. He is struggling, but recovering little by little, and Jemma knows she took the right decision for both of them, even if it pains her to not be there for him in the hardest days: they love each other, and they can be good to each other, but sometimes so much love can be smothering. She needed time apart, and she took it, because she can love him enough to fulfill an entire (infinite) universe, but she couldn’t stand not loving him in a healthy way.

Besides the monthly messages, she has another communication channel with him, their old Academy e-mails that somehow are still functioning. He wrote her a long e-mail three weeks after her departure, apologizing for bothering her, but telling her that his therapist suggested he used Peeta’s way of sorting through his memories whenever he felt unsure about something. (Apparently everybody on base is using it, bus his memories are _particularly_ fucked up). He tells her that Daisy and the rest of the team are helping as much as they can, but for certain kind of things (either because of their timeframe or because of their nature) he can only resort to her. He said that she could stop answering him at any moment and that he wouldn’t blame her, and at the end he just wrote _When we met, I was sixteen and achingly shy._

Her hands trembled while she replied _Real._    

It’s a double-edged weapon, because she is ecstatic whenever she gets to answer _Real,_ but it breaks her heart whenever he asks for something that didn’t happen, or worse: something that did happen but got slightly twisted into something terrible. She never stops writing back, though, because her own issues are more related to his physical presence than to him per se, and she is glad there is something she can do while being away to help him: she can't imagine something better than to offer him her memories of their cherished friendship and the mutual love she aches so much for.

The first couple of days the amount of emails was insane, but now they are less and less frequent, and contain statements that are one-hundred percent true nine times out of ten. It means he is getting better, and every time it feels like a weight is being lifted from her chest.   

She has sent him a _Not yet_ message nine times already, but when she is about to send him the tenth, she receives an email from him: _You mean more than anything to me._ She gets choked up, but for the first time in a long time, tears feel like a blessing. She doesn’t answer him with her customary _Real,_ but instead with _I think I’m ready, Fitz._ It doesn’t mean that _he_ has to be ready to see her, but she can’t say she is surprised when two days later he calls her with a shaking voice from a Sheffield's hotel.

They agree to met in a 24-hours cafe Jemma used to frequent when she was fourteen and getting her bachelor degree, because the owner was her mother’s classmate, and she used to give her free tea and kept an eye on her in the long nights when Jemma didn’t give herself a break. She is waiting for him sitting on the edge of her seat; she hasn’t been this nervous since the first time a boy asked her out. It’s difficult, with a mind like hers, but she tries not to overthink about what will happen when she sees him again after such a long time (after the first six months and a half, everyday she crossed out a day of her calendar and thought _This is the longest time Fitz and I have ever spent apart)._ It could be an amazing or disastrous experience, but she’s a scientist: the only way to find out is to try.

“It’s two sugars, right?”

She is looking downwards on purpose, she wants to have time to process him piece by piece so she can back off quickly if she has a bad reaction; the first part of him she sees are his hands, holding two teacups, and her entire body is trembling, but it is because of nerves and not because of fear. It’s a silly question to ask- she has taken her tea the same way since they have known each other, why would she have changed it in the last ten months?-, but she knows he is using the cups as a shield and the question as an opener, and it makes her feel a little better and bold enough to raise her eyes and look at his face.      

It’s a shocking experience to see his eyes again, so blue and so full of longing and love; his hair and his beard longer; the contour of his face more slender. Her breath shortens, but she is not haunted by the memories of those… _things_ that used his face to hurt her, but blessed by the memories of the sweet boy that used to be her partner in crime and of the amazing man she chose to share her life.

_“Fitz.”_

His eyes are brimming with tears, and he drops the cups because his hands are shaking too much to hold them, and Jemma grabs them impulsively. His hands are warm, as they usually are compared to her cold ones, and he whimpers, but Jemma can not remember having a physical experience so powerful in the last ten months. She doesn’t flinch at the contact, and she is counting it as a huge victory.

“Jemma.”

She hesitates a little about what to say to him, because she asked for a first encounter free of apologies and assessments of the past; she knows he probably _needs_ to apologize, but they will have time for that in the near future: right now they need to rediscover each other as they are now, after everything, before making amends.

“How have you been?”

It might seem odd to ask such a trivial question while they are holdings hands so intimately, but somehow it feels right.

“Um, fine. Good. Better might be… ah, well, a better word indeed. And you?”

“Good. Better, too.”

They are smiling at each other even in the verge of tears, and Jemma doesn’t regret choosing this place because she wasn’t sure how she might react, and she wanted the comfort of a place she holds dear to her heart, but now that she found out that she is indeed ready for a first encounter with him, she wants him closer.   

“Fitz, take me home.”

He looks startled and maybe a little panicked, but he nods quickly and stumbles to help her put her coat on. She takes their cups, and smiles at him while she offers him one.

“And yes, two sugars is still alright.”

* * *

Her flat is fifteen minutes away, and they walk there despite the biting cold. Her tea goes cold untouched because she is busier holding his hand and looking at him than drinking it. She tells him family anecdotes and about her work in a research center downtown; he tells her a little about his therapy and about the work he has been supervising at S.H.I.E.L.D., but not doing. She is fascinated, because watching him is like watching a stranger doing an impression of someone she knows: she can recognize the mannerisms, the tones of his voice, the turns of phrase, but she can’t exactly predict every movement before it happens, she can’t recognize the way every muscle on his face moves to form the big picture. It’s a good thing, because despite it not being his fault, her brain associated his face with terrible experiences; having a slightly new Fitz to get herself used to helps with both forging new, positive memories about him and with reconnecting with the old memories that she wants back.   

The distance was good for her, because she missed him so much that now she can only be in awe of him, of his good heart, of his soft voice, of the tenderness of his hand, of his delightful brain. She is not naïve, she knows there will come times when it won’t be so easy, when flashes will hunt them both, but they are still capable of having a quiet moment of happiness together, and she wants to treasure that.

It’s strange but nice to see him in her home, in the space that she made her own during all those months without him. He is curious but respectful, looking around but not pushing. She leaves him in the living room while she turns on the kettle, because her home is not her home without the smell of tea. When she comes back from the kitchen, he is turned around, looking at her bookshelves with his head in a 45 degree angle, and she feels a rush of love for him so strong that is almost like a physical sensation.

“Fitz.”

He turns around, his eyes bright, and he is not the amazed boy she once met, but she can appreciate the prudent man he has become all the same.

She leaves the mugs in the table, and he gets closer to her but very slowly, like he wants her to have the chance to back away if she needs it. She encourages him with a nod until he places his hands on her hips, and he stands on her toes to close the distance between them. He closes his eyes, but his breathing is quickening, and Jemma looks at his lips for maybe a second too long.

“Fitz, can I kiss you?”

There is only one small ring of blue around each of his pupils when he opens his eyes again, and his voice is rough.

“God, Jemma, please.”

She kisses him and it is amazing how it feels at the same time like a totally new experience and like rediscovering an old pleasure. His kisses are the same but his skin is different under her fingers, some of the sounds he makes are new, the sensations he awakes on her body are the same lovely ones as before, and at the same time an exciting unknow discovery.

“My room is that way.”

Fitz whimpers at her words, but doesn’t need to be told twice.         

They let another two perfectly good cups of tea go cold.

* * *

The same method that she used to relearn herself while she was away, she uses now to relearn him: the nooks of his body, the texture of his skin, the delicacies of his mind, all the ways to make him squirm and say her name in a breathy voice.

She feels empowered and high, but it is not because of the pleasure (even though she can appreciate a good dose of endorphins as much as anyone, she did just as fine with _that_ by herself), it’s mostly because of the intimacy and the experience of letting her body and her mind and her heartbeat get used again to his.

They are not well-versed in afterglow and pillow talk, because they usually never had the time before (someone was always being kidnapped or dying while they were with S.H.I.E.L.D.), but they don’t need to talk much now.

She is kissing his chest softly, not teasing him for a second round, but enjoying the fact that he is here, alive and his heart beating under her mouth, skin and flesh and bones, and that her own body is welcoming him instead of rejecting him with fear, until she notices that he has something he wants to say but doesn’t dare.

“Fitz, just tell me already.”

He looks ashamed of having been caught, but he speaks even while he blushes.  

“I asked for a month off to go see my mum. I thought that maybe, um, if you want of course, you could come with me.”

It will do him good, getting in contact again with his childhood home, his mother’s cooking, his people’s particular way of speaking, everything that helped him be the man that he is. He maybe should have done it a long time ago, but he gets to take his own decisions the same way she got to take hers, and she can only be there to share with him the gains and the losses. She needed space and time, but now he needs her and his mum, and a home full with old photos and laughter, a house that smells like cinnamon all year long. She can’t promise him that it will be easy and that it will fix all his problems, but now she feels ready for trying and she always wants to try with him.

“Wherever you want to go, Fitz, I will be by your side.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Just give me a reason" by Pink! I keep writing from the ladies' POV after The Framework (two fics for Jemma, one for Daisy, and counting), just because I wouldn't know how to deal with Fitz's head right now. This is not me trivialising how terrible and hard this whole experience was/is for him, this is just me pulling the focus a little so I can cope with this storyline too.
> 
> This story is part of LLF Comment Project, whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Prompts
>   * Image reactions
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * This author replies to comments.
> 



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